


Lips Like Icing

by daddychilton



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: M/M, cake kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2033031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daddychilton/pseuds/daddychilton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Numbers bakes Wrench a cake for his b-day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lips Like Icing

**Author's Note:**

> For Kate and Lauren, two of the coolest artists I know.
> 
> "Believe in the yaoi."

Numbers cracked the egg deftly over the side of the bowl. Or, so he thought he’d done it deftly. Pieces of eggshell drifted in the murk of pre-packaged cake batter and vegetable oil.

“Shit,” he said. Wrench was out doing God knew what and Numbers didn’t know how long he had till he got back.  He tried scooping the fragments of eggshell out of the batter with his fingers, but only pushed them further down.

“Well, what he don’t know won’t hurt him.” He chuckled, thinking about Wrench eating an eggshell-filled funfetti cake that Numbers, of all people, had baked for him.

He was standing in the kitchen of the hostel they were staying at in Austin, TX. A hit had brought them here, but they wouldn’t be staying long. They never stayed anywhere long.  The kitchen walls were painted in some orange that reminded Numbers of adobe, complete with cracks that went from floor to wall to ceiling. It was a shitty place, but it had the amenities needed and was cheap.

The stove was just a shitty as the paintjob; it was old, but not gas-lit. It was something that could break at any minute, he thought. He had to turn the dial to 500F just to get it to heat up to 200F. He hoped the cake would bake all the way through. Guess it didn’t matter much if it didn’t.

He set the mixer’s beaters in the batter and turned it on its lowest setting. It hummed and clanked as it hit the sides of the metallic Mainstays bowl that Numbers had picked up at Walmart along with the cake mix and ingredients. He turned the speed up a little bit, realizing his mistake at the last minute. It was too fast – the batter was spraying out at him from the bowl, hitting his face with rainbow, probably eggshell-filled, drops. He turned it off, but not before his face and beard were smeared with it.

“Happy birthday, you sonuvabitch.”

He poured the batter into the pan and set it in the oven.

 

When Wrench walked through the door of the hostel, he smelt something burned. Not an awful burnt smell, just something that had been singed at the corners. He smiled; Numbers had been cooking again.

He walked up the stairs to their room, taking off his buckskin jacket and setting it on his bed. They’d managed to get a room to themselves; how, he wasn’t sure. Austin was popular with young people these days: lots of music to hear, lots of great food to eat.

Numbers wasn’t in the room.

He walked back downstairs and saw him standing outside of the kitchen, pouting. There was something stuck in his beard—he’d clearly tried to get it all off, but had missed a spot. Wrench took his thumb, wiped it from Numbers’ beard and stuck it in his mouth.

Sweet. So sweet.

“What’s this?” he signed.

“Nothing, nothing,” Numbers said. Wrench knew Numbers was agitated; he was speaking.

He tried to walk through the kitchen door, but Numbers put his hands on his chest, trying to stop him.

“Don’t go in there,” he signed.

Wrench ignored his huff as he pushed past him and through the door. On the small dining table was a burnt cake with a few candles jutting out of its poorly-iced surface. A red “Happy Birthday” was written in Numbers’ sloppy hand. He smiled.

“What _is_ this?” Wrench signed.

“I tried, man, I _did_ try,” Numbers signed, his cheeks growing a deep scarlet.

Wrench took Numbers face with both of his big hands and kissed him square on the mouth. All he could taste was cake batter – and he loved it.

Numbers was even redder than before, but he managed a weak smile.

“Are you going to cut me a piece, or do I have to everything myself,” Wrench signed.

“Okay, okay,” Numbers said. He grabbed a butter knife and began cutting a long piece at the corner. Wrench sat down at the table, and Numbers set a paper plate with a giant piece of funfetti cake and a plastic fork in front of him.

“Thanks.”

Numbers watched his face as he took the first bite. It was sickly sweet, but Wrench _loved_ sickly sweet things. His eyes closed and he sighed through his nose. It was perfect.  Numbers knew it, too.

“I love you,” he signed. But before Numbers could say anything else, he stuck his fingers in his mouth and pulled out a chunk of eggshell. He couldn’t help but laugh, and Numbers couldn’t help but join in.

“I love you,” Numbers said, “I love you so much.”

They kissed again, Numbers tasting the cake through Wrench’s parted lips.

It was pretty good, he thought.

But the kiss was better.

 


End file.
